They were friends
by spokethewind
Summary: Grigg has returned. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have very different ideas on how to deal with this situation. Based on season 4 photos and my never-ending imagination.
1. Chapter 1

Hai there. I don't usually write stories mainly because I lack the confidence and the capability. Once you graduate college you quickly lose the ability to write anything longer than a status update. But I thought I'd try it out and see what happens. I spend an abnormal amount of time thinking of Downton and the big story (that I think most are aware of) is that Grigg is coming back which appears to bring Carson, Hughes, Mrs. Crawley and Dr. Clarkson all together. I'm barely including Mrs. Crawley and Clarkson because I honestly don't like them. Not like Carson and Hughes. ANYWAY, you make or break me. If you read this, LOVE THIS, or believe it's simply average, let me know. Because I will literally measure my success based on what others tell me. I like positives. Don't tell me negatives or I'll delete this story so fast you won't even be done complaining. I'm excited about where this is going, and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks!

**Chapter 1**

The letters had arrived in quick succession. Mrs. Hughes can clearly remember when the first one appeared. Mr. Carson went white as a sheet after the new maid handed him the letter and retreated to his pantry for the remainder of the afternoon. That evening he retired early to bed. It was clear something had affected him in a dramatic way. But, what? Had someone died? Was there a woman in his life and things weren't working out? Had he lost all his money in a gambling rage? There was really nothing she could think of that would justify or fit his type of behavior. The following days continued in a similar fashion, he occasionally took a working meal, which greatly irritated her. Finally he took a day to run into town for errands and didn't return until late in the evening. That was all she could stand.

She marched into his pantry when he returned. He was hanging his coat as she threw open the door. Carson started to protest but she set him with one of her steely glares, turned and actually locked the door behind her. He gaped at the knob. Such scandal had to happen, if she were to finally get the story from him.

They stood and stared at each other for a few minutes. He, nervously hanging and re-adjusting his things and she, somewhat impatiently, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he found his voice.

"Won't you sit, Mrs. Hughes?"

She did so, not saying a word. He had his back to her and she could see him close his eyes thinking of his defense. Or his escape route. He sighed and joined her. He was sitting in front of the one person would help him, if he let her. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't so sure he wanted her help - at least at the present moment.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation."

The scowl on Mrs. Hughes face vanished as he sat and told her his story. A man named Grigg had written him several times asking to see him. Carson did his best to ignore the initial first few letters, assuming Grigg was writing in an altered state of mind. However as they kept coming, Carson realized that they weren't some kind of ramblings of a depressed drunk. He agreed to meet where Grigg was staying and the meeting did not go well. Grigg was ill; he had some sort of terminal disease of the liver, and had no one to turn to.

"How do you know Grigg? Were you friends?"

Carson scoffed bitterly. And here, whether she knew it or not, she was treading dangerously. But she had to know, if only to give Carson the support he needed. It took him a few minutes to determine how he should go about explaining.

"We were work acquaintances."

He had told his lordship that once, and it worked until Grigg opened his damned mouth about what they exactly did together.

"When you were on the stage."

She didn't ask, she knew. He looked up at her sharply. After Grigg initially left Downton, only a few people knew of that encounter. As far as he knew, no one spoke of the incident. He sat there racking his brain as to how she found out. Her eyes went down to her lap.

"I overheard his lordship say something to her ladyship one evening many years ago. Honestly, I didn't believe it. I thought I imagined it. But O'Brien went in the next morning and found a pamphlet on the dresser that apparently had your name on it."

He stared at her.

"You and O'Brien were working together?" She knew that tone. She had to calm him and fast.

"No, of course not. I only heard it, she only read it. I suppose she felt the need to blurt it out to the first person she saw, which was me. I'm still shocked to this day that she never told anyone else."

"Anyone that you know of."

She was practically digging her own grave.

"If it were anyone else, it would be Thomas. And how bad is that?" He looked at her incredulously but she continued,"'You know Thomas' secret, he knows a bit about yours."

His eyes narrowed. "Everyone knows Thomas' secret."

She laughed. He smiled.

So, she knew he was on the stage. But she brought up a valid point, and it was something that Carson had just realized – she, and no one else knew _what_ went on. Only his profession and now, association to a man who did not belong in any sort of respectable establishment. It wasn't what Carson wanted, but it wasn't the worst thing they could know. That gave Carson a bit of comfort.

Some time had passed. Carson was staring at his hands deep in thought, Mrs. Hughes at the door.

"You're a good man to help him."

"If I help him," Came his short reply. The temper had returned. Carson clearly needed time to think of what he should do, and he wanted to be alone. He was making it clear.

Mrs. Hughes recognized this. It typically took Carson longer than her to come to any sort of decision, and time was something this Grigg did not have much of. A surge of emotions went through Mrs. Hughes all stemming from her previous health scare. Pity, anger, sympathy. Grigg certainly couldn't be that bad of a man, and even if he was, no man deserved to die alone and in pain. She knew what he was feeling. Carson did not. Her mind was set; she would go and speak to this man. Just to get his story and to see what his options and plans were. She stood, Carson followed.

"Well, I trust you will do what you believe is best. I'll send some tea and sandwiches in for you later. Goodnight Mr. Carson."

She unlocked and opened the door, but froze. She softened.

"If it makes you feel better to go over your options at a later time, please do not hesitate to seek me out. That's what friends do. I know I always feel relieved after we've discussed things together." She gave him a small smile and headed down the hall, praying he wasn't reading too much into that statement.

Carson slammed his fist into the desk after he heard her door shut. This whole situation should not be happening. Grigg didn't deserve his help, let alone his money, his time or his energy. And the one person Carson held above all others did not need, nor deserve to hear anything more about his past. He was bitterly brought back to her health scare. She hid it from him and was angry with him when he hinted that she should rest. He wanted to help her, but she wasn't having it. Now, she was offering her help and although he wasn't dying, to Carson this was the most horrific incident he could go through in his life. Did friends seek each other out during trying times? Yes, of course they do.

But she didn't. The one, absolute time she should have, she didn't.

He thought he was over the anger at how she handled that situation. Apparently he simply buried it. She was healthy, she was here. And now he was back to that moment, sick to his stomach, thinking she would have died before she told him she was ill and needed his help. He rubbed his eyes violently. They were friends, damn it.

He knew it. He repeated it. But it didn't make him feel any happier.

His decision was made. What she didn't know, wouldn't hurt her. It was the only way.


	2. Chapter 2

Researching diseases is neither easy nor fun. And writing Grigg was even less enjoyable as we've seen him for a whole running time of about 5 minutes on the show (give or take). Your reviews were great! I thank you for taking the time to comment! Don't be shy to write them again, heh.

**Chapter 2**

Carson couldn't continue carrying on like this. Although Thomas was serving as under-butler, he was not nearly as qualified as Mr. Carson. If his work performance began to suffer due to these ridiculous visits, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. This would be the final visit he would make to Grigg, he would make sure of that.

The early morning sun hadn't yet melted all of the frost as he made his way through the village. There were positives to every season and a chilly early morning walk not only woke him up but helped remind him of how he should handle his meeting. Grigg was currently staying in an abandoned farm house on the other side of town, but Carson knew he spent his days at Grantham Arms. He wanted to speak to him at the house due to the fact that it was out of the public eye and a more relaxed environment.

As he approached the house he went over his strategy again. This man did not deserve anything. They were not friends, they were not family; they simply knew each other a lifetime ago. So while Carson very much wanted to tell Grigg to get lost, his heart could not allow him to do so. He was a good man inside and out. His parents raised him right and that was probably the main reason he couldn't continue on the stage. Grigg was the opposite – a vindictive, cynical man with no sympathy for others. Still, it saddened Carson to see him suffer like this.

He knocked a few times and entered. Grigg was already up looking a bit more swollen than the other day. He also had a very light yellowish tinge to his skin that wasn't illuminated by the dark lights of the pub. The most startling symptom was his stomach that was protruding as if he had eaten a cow, whole. Grigg made more of a grimace than a smile at Carson.

"So you've come to help me then, eh?"

They each took a seat on the bare floor. Calm and honest was the way in which to have this conversation and it made Carson the better man. He thought that Mrs. Hughes would be proud of the way he would remain composed and commanding. At least he hoped so.

"I have come. However it is not to offer you my complete assistance."

"If you won't help me, I'll find others who will."

Carson gave a sigh. "You may, but it won't be here. You are not welcome in this town, especially after how you acted in your previous visit. If I were to even mention you to Lord Grantham –"

"But you won't. You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself further than you already have."

"Don't test me." He snapped. _So much for being calm_. "He could lock you up so fast you wouldn't know what hit you. And then, what? You'd die a slow and agonizing death in a jail cell alone with no means of treatment or comfort. I'm half tempted to do such a thing to get you out of my life for good."

Grigg leaned back against the wall. "Why are you here then? To threaten me? You could have done so in a letter."

Carson pulled out two five pound notes. "My plan was not to threaten you. It was to make perfectly clear that you know you are not welcome here. You can use these to get you anywhere you want to go. Perhaps somewhere with more knowledge than Downton, a place that can actually treat your condition."

"There is no treatment for this. I told you that." Grigg barked and his face immediately twisted in pain. He needed medical assistance much sooner than Carson imagined, but that was not for Carson to lecture him on.

"Perhaps, but I'm sure there is medicine that will lessen the pain. Anyway, I really don't care what you do with this money, as long as you leave."

Grigg leant forward to take the notes and let out a pained hiss. "Maybe I'll just stay here. You wouldn't know the difference."

"If you choose to do that you'll force my hand in reporting you to both Lord Grantham and the police. I don't want that to happen, Grigg. Don't be stupid."

Grigg's face darkened. "Look at Charlie Carson, such an honorable and good man. You're not any better than me! I know your past, I know who you are. You're blackmailing me to leave? You're as dirty as the day you left the stage."

Carson's face hardened. He stood. "I've asked for only one thing and I don't think it's asking too much. Just because I didn't help you in the way you wanted does not mean that I haven't helped you at all. That's the difference between you and me. You will ultimately choose your own fate but you won't be dragging my name through the mud. No one here would listen to you anyway. So good luck to you Grigg, I'll see myself to the door."

Carson slammed the door as Grigg muttered, "We'll see."

* * *

Mrs. Hughes had a pretty good idea of where Mr. Carson had gone that morning and it was made all the more evident as he was back in his pantry muttering curses and slamming things about. She had a rather entertaining vision of him polishing the silver with such strength that it would snap in his hands. He would then throw the broken, however stunningly, shiny damned silver through his wall, which would then probably take out an unsuspecting maid or footman in the hall. Then he'd have to explain later at dinner that James – it would be James, not Alfred – would be unable to serve due to an unfortunate accident caused from blunt trauma to his pretty little face. She chuckled and turned her focus back to her books.

Or, at least she tried. She wondered what was discussed with Grigg this morning. Whatever it was, it did not end the way Mr. Carson had wanted. She spent the past few days not only planning how to find and meet with Grigg, but how to conceal it from Mr. Carson and how he would bring his situation to a close. Obviously he either helped him or he didn't. Would he actually share with her what happened? Perhaps if she gave him his space during the day, he would come around later on.

The family retired a bit earlier than usual that evening. Mrs. Hughes was in her sitting room working on some mending, honestly not thinking Mr. Carson would be the least interested in a sit down this evening. She heard his footsteps before she heard his knock or voice. He poked his head in.

"Would you like some tea, Mrs. Hughes?"

She smiled. "It would be a sad day if I ever turned down some tea."

He mirrored her smile and disappeared. For as angry as he was, he seemed to have recovered exceptionally well. Perhaps everyone had stayed out of his way. Perhaps it was because he had been released early from upstairs. Perhaps he had gotten his anger out on polishing, albeit with less violence than her imagination. Or perhaps, she thought with a flutter, it was because he wanted to sit and talk with her. Whatever the reason, she was relieved.

Carson came in with the tray and began to fix the tea. She gave a thought earlier in the day that if they were to share their evening together, she would be doing exactly this, not him. It was refreshing to see him looking less tense then he had been the past few days.

He handed her the tea. "How was your day?"

"As good as it ever is. Kate's starting to get the hang of being a maid and she's as meticulous as you or I ever are with her work. I've never seen someone so panicked over a crease in the linen."

"And you were worried she wouldn't be up to your standards," He teased.

"I had my concerns, just as you do with every new boy you take on."

He grunted in agreement as he drank. She hesitated, but had to ask.

"And how was your day?"

Carson cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. "You didn't hear me earlier before luncheon?"

"I don't know what you mean." Her eyes scanned the ceiling and a smile tugged at her lips. This was enjoyable. She liked to mimic the way he told his lies. Although she had a feeling he had no idea how terrible he was at it.

They locked eyes and his smile slowly faded. He didn't tell her much. He had met again with Grigg and he wasn't pleased with what Carson had offered him. And while that was a disappointment, he believed that Grigg would find help and that would be the end of it. She nodded and drank her tea.

But she didn't believe it would end there and she didn't want Mr. Carson to continue to help a man that never seemed satisfied. Initially, she had doubts he would offer his help to Grigg. Now, she felt guilty of ever being irritated with Mr. Carson and his unyielding pride. She was suddenly more concerned of what all Grigg really wanted and what he was willing to do to get it. A visit to Grigg would still be in order, but this time it was to make sure he would get the help he needed, and leave Mr. Carson alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mrs. Hughes grabbed her coat. She told Mr. Carson she would be running into town after luncheon for a few errands. Told him the house was running low on some cleaning supplies. It wasn't. She was thankful he didn't review her books like he used to when she became housekeeper. Now, he only reviewed them if she asked for his assistance. She liked that he was always so willing to help. And if she was honest with herself, she liked to watch him concentrate. _When his eyes would narrow and his brows furrowed together and he'd put that pen to his mouth – _She readjusted her hat and headed to his pantry.

A few days had passed since Carson met with Grigg. There had been no mention of him since and Carson seemed to get more cheerful with each passing day. The man even gave a smile to Thomas this morning. Meanwhile Mrs. Hughes became more and more anxious. She had been obsessively thinking of this meeting for days. The more she thought, the more she didn't want to help Grigg. She had a feeling he was not a pleasant character but that wasn't what bothered her as she'd dealt with that kind of lot before. She was more nervous as to how she would be able to assure herself that this man would leave Mr. Carson alone. She really had no leverage over him if it came to that, and after spending countless hours, she miserably gave up last night. This morning found her back at the beginning; not really having a plan, but still needing to see this man.

She gave two knocks and entered Mr. Carson's pantry.

"I'm just off into town. Is there anything you need?"

He looked up from his desk. "Actually, a new bottle of ink wouldn't go amiss."

"That may cause me to be late for dinner." She teased.

"Go on." He smirked and turned back to his books.

* * *

Mrs. Hughes had to plan her afternoon due to Mr. Carson's request. Should she pick up the ink before meeting with Grigg or after? She had waited patiently for days, so taking care of the meeting first was just what her nerves needed. Besides, she reasoned, she could get a treat to reward herself on her walk back.

She arrived at Grantham Arms and took a deep breath before entering. Taking a look around, there were a handful of men throughout the pub. Going up and asking each one if they were Grigg would only invite trouble, so she went to the barman.

"Excuse me; has a man named Grigg been seen around here?"

The barman gave her a blank stare. Well this wasn't going to plan. After a rather uncomfortable moment, a man at the end of the counter stirred. His clothes looked tight and his hat was pulled down to hide his face.

"Who wants to know?" He slurred. Mrs. Hughes took a tentative step towards him.

"Who are you?" He questioned. She bit her lip. He didn't deserve to know her first name, let alone use it. Not even Mr. Carson used it and he of all people deserved to.

"My name is Mrs. Hughes."

"What do you want?" He labored. He didn't look well at all as Mrs. Hughes got closer. His coat was tight around his bloated body and his face and eyes were a sickening yellow color. He reeked of alcohol and was breathing heavy. There was sweat on his brow. She took a seat at the counter, but made sure to leave one chair in between them.

"I'm here to see how you are."

He sneered. "Has Charlie been feeling guilty?"

Her eyes narrowed. She did not want to discuss Mr. Carson. To bring him up would only invite Grigg to ask how she knew him. And it would probably bring up countless colorful insults, of which she really didn't have the time, or the patience to hear.

"No, he hasn't. Please try to hold your tongue as I'm only here to discuss you."

"I've got nothing to say to you." He spat and took a swig of his drink. The environment was hostile. If she couldn't get him to tell his story and fast, this trip would have been for naught. She'd have learned nothing, she'd have accomplished nothing. Perhaps a sympathetic story would break him.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. She wasn't thrilled to bring it up, but had a feeling it would bridge a connection between the two of them. So, she told him of her cancer scare. How she remembered what it felt like to believe that you were dying and there was nothing to be done. How people would look at you differently, in a way you didn't want them to see you. The emotions one went through. Despair, grief, anger. How you're torn between letting others in, yet wanting to be alone. She paused after her story. Looked at him expectantly.

He shot her a look. "I don't want your pity."

"I know you don't," She swallowed. She hadn't truly relived her scare and was feeling a bit emotional. "I know you're angry. But you're only making it worse on yourself. I'm here to help you, you must understand that."

Grigg closed his eyes briefly for a moment.

"Have you been to a doctor?"

He stared into his drink.

"What have they told you?"

"I'm sick. It's my liver. Something called cirrhosis. They can't do anything."

"Surely it's not anything. They must have some kind of medicine that can help you along."

"What's the point? To prolong death? I'd rather it come as quickly as it can."

She was taken aback. What could she say to that? Before she had a chance to think, Grigg leant forward, grabbing his stomach. He let out a cry and stumbled off his chair before collapsing on the floor in front of her. Mrs. Hughes was in a panic. He needed help, now. She couldn't leave him like this. She thought of taking Grigg to the hospital, but she didn't have enough money for the cab fare and he certainly wouldn't be able to walk. Grigg let out another howl of pain. Men in the pub were starting to stare. She racked her brain. Where else was there? The answer left her breathless. There was no other option. Crawley house.

The barman had helped load Grigg into the cab. Mrs. Hughes was on her own to get him into Crawley house. She wildly thought of using the entrance to the servants quarters but that was much too far of a walk. Grigg was alert and in less pain, but still needed someone to help him walk. She held him as she led him to the door. She rang. Once, twice, three times. The door opened.

"May I help you with something, Mrs. Hughes?"

Oh, God. Molesley. She shot him a pained look.

"I need Mrs. Crawley."

He closed the door. Her mouth hung open. _Really?_ She thought. _He can't even leave the door open? God, I hate_ – the door opened and Mrs. Crawley was there at once to help them in. As she led Grigg upstairs she called out for Molesley to get Mrs. Hughes some tea as she waited. He hurried off.

Mrs. Hughes walked up to the window that overlooked the back garden and stared out at the arrangements of flowers. She was alone. In the sitting room of Mrs. Crawley's house. This had all gone horribly wrong. She had just wanted to see this man off. Perhaps help him help himself, but not actually invite herself along for the journey. How could she explain this to Mrs. Crawley? How could she justify bringing a man through the front door of her house? It was nearly five o'clock. She should have been home by now. What must Mr. Carson be thinking? He's going to know. He _has_ to know where she's been. She bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

Molesley entered with a tray. "Here Mrs. Hughes, please have a seat."

She sat more for the comfort than his request. "Would you like some sugar? Or lemon?"

"Please, Mr. Molesley. Let me be." Her voice was hoarse as she stared at her hands. He bowed and left.

* * *

The clock read quarter past six when Mrs. Crawley descended the stairs. Mrs. Hughes rose as she entered.

"Mrs. Crawley, I do apologize. I had no right –"

She smiled, "Mrs. Hughes, you had every right. This man is ill, gravely ill. Thank you for waiting. Please, sit down and tell me what's happened. Molesley has gone to get both of us some tea and sandwiches."

The last thing Mrs. Hughes wanted was tea or a sandwich. She was quite uncomfortable in this kind of position. As Mrs. Crawley took her tea, Mrs. Hughes explained that she became aware of Grigg's condition through a mutual friend and met with him at the pub because she was concerned. She told of how the doctors believe he had cirrhosis and that he was in despair. Mrs. Hughes had no knowledge of the disease but was certain that there was medicine to at least help his condition, if not cure it, to which Mrs. Crawley agreed. She assured Mrs. Hughes that she would be able to help Grigg.

"I've called for an ambulance to take Mr. Grigg to the hospital. They should arrive within an hour. He is resting comfortably, so there is no need to worry. They will take good care of him, and you can visit him tomorrow if you wish."

Mrs. Hughes was grateful beyond words; however she did not envision a visit occurring anytime soon. "Thank you, Mrs. Crawley for everything you've done. I do appreciate it. But, if you don't need me for anything else, I'm afraid I must get back to Downton."

"Please, Mrs. Hughes. Let me have a car drive you."

Mrs. Hughes smiled weakly. "No need, Mrs. Crawley. You have been more than gracious. A walk would do me good."

* * *

The walk back was torturous. Mrs. Hughes reflected that there had only been a few times when she had truly feared Mr. Carson and they all stemmed back to when she was new to the house. She hadn't truly known him in those early years and somewhere over the past twenty, Mrs. Hughes believed she came to know everything there was to know about Mr. Carson. She could read his expressions, his moods, his actions. Knew what he would say if someone broke a dish. The look he would have on his face when a dinner had gone smoothly. Why he shared his evenings with her. But this situation was so fragile, so unique that she realized there was a part of him she didn't know at all – the part that contained his past. She only ever heard him lose his temper when someone failed to live up to his expectations. She never saw it and it was never directed at her.

The house came into view and tears began to form in her eyes. She's completely failed him; completely failed his expectations. He's upstairs serving the family. She should feel relief, but it only means she must wait for his wrath. He's been fuming for some hours now and he's had no way to break his anger. He'll lose his temper with her in a way she's never seen. What would she say, what _could_ she say? That she went behind his back to try to protect him, when he didn't need it? When he took care of it, himself? Now they're forced to deal with the situation together, a situation in which he had closed the book on two days ago. How could he forgive her? She wouldn't be able to take it if this broke their friendship. She couldn't lose the one constant in her life that she held above all others.

She enters the house and heads straight for her sitting room. She closes the door quietly behind her as she takes off her coat. Takes a deep breath. She's beginning to calm down when the realization dawns on her.

She's forgotten the ink.

She lets out a sob and collapses onto the settee. Out of all the things that have happened today, it's this that finally breaks her.

* * *

Your reviews, whether you know it or not, are helping me write this story. I love what you've been saying and you mean the world to me!


	4. Chapter 4

Well, hey there romantic feelings! JF has said that Carson will explore his feelings for Mrs. Hughes at a later date. So in my mind, he loves her but it doesn't mean he realizes it. Buuuut he will one day, right? It better be this year.

**Chapter 4**

The longer the day wore on, the angrier Carson became. At first he was mildly irked, and if he admitted to himself, concerned, at the fact that a few errands had taken her the entire afternoon. His mind had been running through scenarios, some quite farfetched, and as the family sat for dinner he was hit with the worst scenario his mind could invent – she had seen Grigg. He was nearly beside himself with anger at the thought, but the family would be none the wiser. After all, he'd been doing this for over twenty years. He'd become quite talented at hiding his feelings.

Downstairs was a different story. He stormed down the stairs once he had been relieved of his duties, bypassed the hall and headed straight for his pantry. The staff would be sitting for supper and the last thing he wanted was to sit next to a sneering Thomas as he'd ponder, out loud, if Mrs. Hughes had decided to get a room at the inn for the night. And in the state Carson was in, he'd lose his reputable temper and smack Thomas straight across the mouth.

Out of habit, Carson glanced at the sitting room door and noticed the light streaming from the bottom. She was back. His fury was nearly uncontrollable as he approached her door. They've had disagreements before. They've shot nasty remarks at each other. She's disappointed him. She's hurt his feelings and he knows he's hurt hers. But at this moment, Carson had never been so enraged with Mrs. Hughes.

There was no knock. He threw open the door, ready to unleash his wrath. He found her curled up on the settee, holding her knees, head resting on them as she stared out the window. Her head snapped up at the loud crash the door had made against the wall. For a fraction of a second, Carson saw fear in her eyes before she could recover. But there was something else about her eyes. They were just slightly tinged pink. He noticed her hands were clutching a white handkerchief. A new emotion took over Carson – shock.

He has seen women cry before. The girls when they were small. Her Ladyship when Lord Grantham was away at war. Mrs. Patmore when she lost her sight and again when she lost her nephew. Daisy, when Thomas had pressured her to lie for him. Lady Mary at the garden party, and that had broken his heart. But, Mrs. Hughes didn't cry. No, she did cry, he was sure she had at some point in her life here, perhaps during her health scare, but he's never seen it. The closest she's been to such a thing was when Lady Sybil died and even there, the tears never left her eyes. She had cried tonight – cried all alone in her sitting room with no one to comfort her. She cried because of him. His heart shattered. Had a woman ever cried because of him? Did he even care if he had caused such a thing to occur? He did, because it was her. His face must have mirrored his thoughts, as he noticed her eyes soften and posture relax.

Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he approached her. His frame towered over her and he didn't want to intimidate her – not now. And so, he knelt and stared at the floor between them, not knowing what to say next.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered. When he comforted women in the past, he did so as if he were their father. He was patient, kind. Wanted to show them sympathy. Would pat their hand, or in Lady Mary's case, hold her to comfort her. He didn't want to comfort Mrs. Hughes in that fatherly fashion. Perhaps because he was the cause of her pain. Perhaps because he cared more deeply for her than all the others.

He gazed up into her eyes. Poets wrote about moments like these. About a moment so strong that one knew they were in –_Stop it_, his brain commanded him. _Don't say that word._ _Stop thinking like this_. But he couldn't. There was a look to her that he had never noticed before. She was vunerable as she sat before him, an emotion she had never shared with him. And she was beautiful.

"You needn't be." His voice was gentle.

"I do. I've gone and made a mess of things."

"What did you do?"

Her look nearly killed him. "I went to him."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I wanted to see him for myself, wanted to see if he needed help. To get him help so that he… I – I wanted him to leave you alone."

"That's very kind of you."

Her eyes met his. He could tell she didn't expect him to say that. She probably didn't expect any of this. It wasn't what he expected either.

"But what's this mess you made?"

She turned her gaze to her knees. "He had an… episode of some kind. I couldn't just leave him in the pub alone."

"Go on."

"I took him to Crawley House." His eyes widened but he didn't interrupt her. "It was the only place I could afford a taxi to and it was easier for me to help him there rather than the hospital. Mrs. Crawley was very generous, not only helped him, but called for an ambulance after she treated him."

They sat in silence for some time, their gazes never meeting each other's. Carson wanted his feelings to be known, but didn't want to hurt her further.

"I wish you hadn't done that. Now Mrs. Crawley, and eventually Dr. Clarkson, will know about my terrible past with this man."

"That's not true. I only told Mrs. Crawley I was aware of Grigg's condition from a mutual friend. I never said your name."

"You may not have, but Grigg will most certainly tell anyone with a set of ears."

Her brow furrowed, "Maybe not. He was quite ill. And he didn't seem so spiteful near the end of our conversation. I'm not even sure he's angry with you. I believe he's angrier with his situation of life at the moment."

"You had a serious discussion with Grigg about life?"

"We had a discussion about what it feels like to be alone and possibly dying, yes."

Carson's eyes narrowed. She told him, a man who wasn't worth her time, about the most distressing period in her life. The period where she shut Carson out. The period where she didn't want him to help her, didn't want to share it with him. He clenched his fists loosely as he stood, turning his back to her. He didn't want to be angry with her for that. Everyone handled crises differently. But he thought he knew her, knew her well. He believed she would have shared that with him. That she _wanted_ to let him in, and they would go at it, together.

He took a deep breath. Why is it that she is the one who is capable of making him feel such vast and profound emotions? He so desperately wanted to bring this up, wanted to yell at her for her insincerity. To tell her that he was hurt, because he wanted to help her. Wanted to make her see how he felt. Make her see that he lo –

"Mr. Carson?" Her voice was timid. No, he wouldn't discuss this. Not tonight for tonight was not about him. Perhaps later on, down the road. Once this nightmare is over. He grabbed a chair and moved it back to where he was kneeling. He sat, grateful that his knees would get a break. His face was void of emotion as he spoke.

"What do you plan to do, Mrs. Hughes?"

She thought for a moment. "I think we should visit him. Certainly not every day; and maybe not even once a week. But to occasionally check up on him. Raise his spirits a bit. Until he is well enough to leave, or until he…" She trailed off.

"If I said no, would you still go?"

Her silence was her answer. She was such a stubborn –

"I _want_ to do this with you." He swore he imagined her reply, it was so soft.

A stubborn, beautiful, compassionate woman.

"You tell me when, and we'll go together."

The smile she had on her face melted his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

It's now time for this story to move away from speculation Season 4 because not only is more information being leaked but it's just easier for me to keep my story going from here on in. Makes me more comfortable and I can have more fun. And more fun makes me write faster. Also making me write faster is reviews. I've now learned the correct way to handle a review, and if you write a nice review, I'll be sending you PMs like you wouldn't believe. You know you want that.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

They walked amiably side by side. _This is how it should be_, she thought. No resentment, no humiliation, no fear. For the past month, they've visited Grigg in hospital. Sometimes she'd go it alone, sometimes he'd go it alone and seldom, they'd go it together. Any discussion they had early on about doing this together was quickly quashed by Carson, who told her it'd be nigh impossible for the two 'heads of staff' to be out together for so long. It wouldn't do for the staff's imagination.

The visits themselves usually weren't unpleasant, whether together or alone. It was the arrival back at Downton that always caused a problem. Any time she returned, Carson wrung his hands asking her how it went and what all was said (code, she had picked up, for how much of his past was brought up today). Any time he returned, Mrs. Hughes chewed her bottom lip thinking of a constructive way to calm his fury (tea was hardly enough and she didn't own any wine, so whiskey it was. He never once complained). And on the rare instances they went together, Carson made sure the walk home was insufferable.

_The way Grigg mouthed off at you…_

_I can't believe Dr. Clarkson thinks…_

_Why was Mrs. Crawley there? Completely unnecessary…_

To say the least, this past month has been draining on her mood. Not to mention her whiskey supplies had completely dwindled, requiring more than what was natural visits to re-stock them. _What must the merchant think_? She looked toward the sky and sighed. Just once, she wished a walk home would be pleasant. Just one when neither of them were concerned for the other. _No_, she thought._ He's not concerned for me. He's concerned about what I've learned_. Which was very little.

Mrs. Hughes didn't put up with anyone's lip and she certainly wouldn't start with Mr. Grigg. He'd try to tell her stories, or try to make her question Mr. Carson's character and she had none of it. Quash that right before it got started. Except that she had heard a few things, before her tongue got the best of Grigg. Before her mind processed what was being implied. And these were things that she didn't let Mr. Carson on to. She didn't think they were bad; negative. She simply thought that any young man who was presented with a similar circumstance would act in the same way. _Everyone is young once, they learn from their past_… though what she would give to have met him then. She wondered if he used as much pomade in his hair. What sort of tricks he could do. Her eyes glazed over, what _tricks_ indeed.

She shook her head violently to rid these thoughts and the heat from her cheeks. She saw him glance down in concern.

"What's the matter?"

She shook her head again. "Just thinking."

"… About?"

"When this will all be said and finished."

"It can't come soon enough."

By the time they arrived at hospital it was nearly half past nine. It was the only time they could come together. Supper was over, and only trivial things held their attention this late at night. Bookwork. Mending. Going over the days' events. Drinking leftovers. Perhaps those last two weren't so trivial, but unfortunately they weren't considered high on the list of things to do for the greater good of the house. Carson took her coat as she nodded to one of the nurses. They all knew who Carson and Mrs. Hughes were and they were quickly shown to Grigg's bed. _The perks of a frequent guest_.

Grigg had been deteriorating, albeit it more slowly than either of them expected. Mrs. Hughes wasn't sure how good that was, especially for Mr. Carson's sanity and possibly, wallet. He was much better now than he was when she first found him and he, most unfortunately for Mr. Carson, was usually in good spirits. Tonight was no exception.

"Ah, I was wondering when I would see you next, Charlie."

They both took their seats next to Grigg. It had been over a week since Mr. Carson had visited, due to the fact that the season was slowly approaching and it was time to start preparing. That meant more evenings doing bookwork, cataloging the wines and more in-depth training with Thomas. It hadn't been decided if Thomas was going to London as an under-butler this season or if he'd stay at Downton but if Mrs. Hughes had her wish, he'd go and train in London and then stay on. She smiled. Mr. Carson would never have to leave. _And we'd be rid of Thomas_.

"You look mighty fine tonight, Mrs. Hughes."

Her smiled was gone as quick as it came.

"Hold your tongue, Grigg."

"I'm sorry Charlie. I know you're sweet on her."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes widened. Carson was turning purple.

"Come off it. My word, you used to know how to take a joke in the day."

"As I recall, there were more insults than jokes."

"So was that an insult to you, or her then?"

She watched Carson's hand grasp the material of his pants as it formed into a fist. Tonight was going exceptionally bad. And right from the start. It usually took a few minutes conversation to take this kind of turn. _Well, no_, she thought. _It's never taken _this _kind of turn_. Mrs. Hughes took a breath. Diffusing situations, it seems, had recently become her forte.

"What were you reading, Mr. Grigg?"

"A medical journal. They're everywhere here. Most of them are boring with non-sense medical jargon but sometimes they have stories of patients who explain things to us 'normal blokes.' This one is about cancer. The final thoughts of a hopeless patient or something. Rings home, don't you think?"

_Shit_. Carson couldn't bristle any more if he tried. Mrs. Hughes noticed Grigg pick up on his appearance. He sneered at the reaction. She bit her lip, hard.

"Why so uncomfortable, Charlie? Is it 'cause I'm facing that kind of death? Or is it because your woman here nearly went through a similar fate? She told me about it. We had a nice chat, didn't we, Mrs. Hughes?"

_Oh, shit_. Grigg was never this outright nasty in front of her even when Mr. Carson was with her. She wildly wondered if they brought her up when she wasn't around. Had something been said? Certainly not of her being Mr. Carson's 'woman' but did Grigg discuss her, if one could call this a discussion, openly, like this? Would Mr. Carson stand for such talk?

"I – we may have… I mean to say… we did. But I hardly see the point you're trying to make with that."

"I'm not making the point for you to see."

Damn it, this man was conniving. And confusing. Perhaps Mrs. Hughes wasn't the smartest woman in Downton, but she was quick. She could make sense of things, of situations, words, actions and expressions. It was practically in her job description. But this had her pegged. She risked a glance to Mr. Carson who was giving Grigg's right hand a glare she had never seen before. She knew an angered Mr. Carson. An Exacerbated. Enraged. Disappointed.

This was the Carson she didn't know. It was the Carson she expected to see over a month ago, the night he found out where she'd been. She was at a loss. There was nothing she could say or do to calm him, if she even knew why he was so infuriated in the first place. They had to have talked about something serious when she was not here. Grigg must have picked up on that something and is now, seemingly, running with it. Whatever it is, it's working. And her confirming that they spoke at all seemed to have set Mr. Carson off that much more.

Mrs. Hughes watched Mr. Carson chewing the inside of his mouth. His glare held steady at Grigg's right hand. His eyes were narrowed. He was working. He was trying to hold in his blind hatred.

"I'm so glad she came to me to talk about that."

Carson's head snapped up to meet Grigg's, "You son of a bitch." His fist was drawn back and he leaned over Grigg's body. No matter how much Mrs. Hughes thought a good knock to the teeth was what Grigg needed, it couldn't happen here. In hospital. In front of the other sick people. In front of the nurses. For Dr. Clarkson and inevitably, Mrs. Crawley to find out about. Mr. Carson didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this.

She wrapped her hands around his elbow and gently pulled.

"Don't –"

He turned that glare to her. She watched as his thoughts seemingly went from rage, to...

Despair? Agony?

Hurt. Oh God, she was piecing it together now. He didn't give her much time as he broke her contact and stormed out of the room. Grigg lay back with a satisfied grin.

"Why do you treat him like this? When he's here for you?"

"He's not here for me."

Mrs. Hughes didn't have time to reflect.

She found Mr. Carson a few moments later sitting on the curb in front of the hospital. It was late, much later than they should be out, but here they are. The moon was at least doing its part, as she could make him out quite easily. Well, she could if he was facing her. A month ago, she wasn't sure how they'd repair their relationship. But, that was out of her control. It was he who came to her in kindness and understanding. Now, it was her turn.

Mrs. Hughes gently walked up to stand next to his sitting frame and looked him over. The curly hair had fallen a bit over his face. His arms rested on his knees, his hands linked together. His desperate stare looked out to (she followed his gaze) the building across the street. She wasn't sure what that building was. A shop of some kind, but she'd never been in. Wasn't really interested now.

Slowly, to allow him to stop her if he wished, she lowered herself next to him. Nearly touching, but not quite. It's not proper, he'd say. She pulled her thoughts together.

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

She watched him blink. His lower lip pushed up into his upper. Almost a pout.

"Please, Mr. Carson."

He closed his eyes. His voice broke, "Why?"

She was as gentle as she's even been. "Why what, Mr. Carson?"

"Why did you tell him? When you couldn't –" his voice hitched. " –tell me?"

She took a deep breath. How long had he been holding onto this? Had he been feeling this ever since?

"Because, I didn't want to appear ill, when I wasn't." Now her own voice was near breaking. "You have enough going on that you don't need my problems slowing you down. I didn't want you to treat me differently – I didn't want anyone treating me differently. I didn't want you to worry. I didn't want you to worry about me, especially when I wasn't sure if I was ill. "

He closed his eyes. "But you worry. You worry about me. When I was ill, when I had the Spanish flu… you were worried. You were there every day to worry about me."

"Isn't that different, though? You _were_ ill. I was only possibly, and it turned out for naught." Her words echoed in her head. Was it different? He didn't know how much she worried about him on a daily basis. How she worried if he wasn't at the table before her. When he was down in the cellar, stocking the wines. If his heart could still give out from doing something a bit more strenuous then he's used to.

That was their relationship. She worried behind the scenes. He didn't worry about anything unless it dealt with the family or house. But, he's being open. Something she's longed for ever since she – well, ever since. And he worries. More importantly, he wants to worry. For her.

They sat in silence for a moment. During their conversation, they drifted together, her right shoulder leaning into his left. She could rest her chin on his shoulder if she dared.

"Are we friends, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Of course we are, Mr. Carson."

"And friends… care for each other."

"Yes they do. Very much."

He swallowed. "I wanted to care for you then. But you didn't let me."

At that time, she justified to herself not telling him so she wouldn't appear weak or ill in his mind. That he'd treat her as he always has, because she wanted it that way. Now, looking at the other side, perhaps she wasn't wrong; she simply didn't take him into account. _Because if the tables were turned, and he hid that from me_…

Her hand slowly moved up to meet his near his knee. She gripped it for all its worth, hoping to convey to him her feelings, her regret. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson. I was wrong. I should have considered that – considered you. Because you are my friend; my closest and most important friend. And I hate to think I've caused you pain all this time because I never realized that you… I'm so sorry."

She watched him flex his fingers so that her fingers fell between his. He curled his fingers around hers.

They were quiet after that. She didn't care how cold it was outside, or how late it was. She needed to right his world. But she was having a time trying to do just that.

His voice startled her. "Mrs. Hughes, do you promise that any time you are ill, you will tell me, so that I may worry about you?"

She smiled. "I do promise."

"Truly?"

She rested her temple on his shoulder.

"Yes."

* * *

It was early morning. A guest was arriving, a Mr. Gillingham, to lift Lady Mary's spirits and the downstairs was in chaos as his chauffeur had telephoned announcing he would be bringing three additional staff with him and not one. Mr. Carson was in his pantry trying to prepare for the day as Mrs. Hughes burst through the door.

"Mrs. Hughes! Wha –"

"I have a migraine, Mr. Carson. A very bad migraine. And I wanted to let you know."

He blinked. She crossed her arms and waited. It always took him time, but he'd catch on…

There. His eyes lit up.

She didn't even wait to see his smile as she stormed out his pantry.


	6. Chapter 6

LONG chapter ahead. But this needs to happen before the season starts next week. So there will be (I believe) 2 more chapters by Sunday. Anyway, your reviews were phenomenal. It revived my confidence! I am blatantly asking for more again. This chapter introduces a bit of a plot twist and is quite dramatic (in my mind, life really isn't like this) so it makes Carson a bit depressed and dark. But, I dunno. I like seeing that side of Carson. Plus, my story is AU now, so why the hell not!

**Chapter 6**

They sat for a while longer on that curb, in the dead of night. Nothing was said, and they were perfectly satisfied with simply being together. Carson couldn't speak for her, but he was _quite_ content, especially with holding her hand. He was still content as he thought back to that night. They were currently headed back to hospital after coming to a joint decision that night about how this matter would go on.

It wouldn't.

After they arrived home, they took up their seats in the hall. And after a very long silence, she had apologized. Said she was wrong to have ever involved herself, and even though he had heard her say all this before, tonight was different. She was different. Perhaps she had felt more guilt than remorse the first time she apologized – and he couldn't blame her for that. She went on to say that what they were doing wasn't working. Grigg was not kind, and while some people want to change for the better before passing on, it appeared he did not. She had chuckled then, remarking how strange it was that two quotes existed on the matter of people and change and both were regarded as true.

People change.

People never change.

He didn't blame her for trying to change Grigg (and himself, he admitted much later). In fact, he found it quite endearing; after the initial frustration. He asked what they could do. She looked at him with cold eyes and stated that it was time for Grigg to be on his own. That while his situation was depressing, he wasn't doing anything to better it. And to drag the two of them into this mess – because it was the two of them he was trying to hurt, not just one or the other – simply wouldn't do.

Carson was overjoyed, which probably explained why he offered her his arm on their final walk to hospital. If she had shot him a quizzical look, he would have remarked that it was cold, and the streets could be icy. _They could be_, he mused. _It did snow a few days ago._ But she didn't shoot him a look and even though he wore three layers of clothing, he could feel the warmth of her arm.

He held the door for her. They entered and looked at each other, giving the other confidence. But neither had time to remove their coats as Doctor Clarkson asked to speak with them. Carson huffed. For whatever reason, nothing went to plan anymore.

They sat in front of Clarkson's desk; Isobel was in the corner. Carson wore a scowl, and he could feel Mrs. Hughes looking at him. He didn't meet her gaze. He didn't need her 'it's alright' look. Or her 'behave yourself' look.

"How are the visits going, Mr. Carson?"

Carson blinked. "Not so well, Doctor. We've decided it's time for Grigg to handle the rest of his journey alone."

"Oh, no. You mustn't do that. Not when he needs you now more than ever." Isobel never knew when to hold her tongue. It killed Carson to know that she was a part of the family, because he would never allow himself to speak out of turn. _However she _was _a distant cousin…_

"How so? If you think –"

"Mr. Carson means that while Mr. Grigg may still need support, he appears to not want our support. And he's continued to act in an…" Mrs. Hughes paused, her eyebrows knitted together "uncooperative manner for some time now. So, we've firmly decided it's best to leave him and we don't want any more part in this."

Mrs. Hughes was very good at putting footmen and maids in their places. Some of Carson's favorite memories were of her tearing into a young Thomas. However, to even attempt to put a doctor and a member of the Crawley house in their place was near suicidal.

Carson cleared his throat. "If either of you have another suggestion on this matter, we'd welcome it. But as it stands, this is our final visit."

Isobel looked imploringly at Doctor Clarkson.

"I understand your frustration, and I believe I may have a solution for you. There's a colleague of mine in London – a Doctor Keogh. He specializes in internal medicine and is developing new treatments to assist those with terminal illnesses. Now, these treatments are experimental at best, and he's had a small amount of success with those suffering, however he's not treated someone in Grigg's condition and would like to try."

"You want to send Grigg to London?"

"Yes. He would be able to get better treatment there, and possibly prolong his life significantly…"

Carson's face darkened. _Grigg living even longer? This can't be happening. Why can't he be one of the patients who ask for death instead of hanging on? Probably to continue to make my life a living hell._ He felt Mrs. Hughes gently nudge his elbow. _Right. To make _our_ lives a living hell. Well, I could gladly offer my services to him. A pillow. Morphine. Chloroform. Mrs. Hughes would probably turn a blind eye to the whole ordeal. _Carson felt her nudge him again, a bit harder. _Thank God she cannot always read my mind._ He glanced down at her and watched her slightly incline her head to Doctor Clarkson. _Oh._

"I beg your pardon, I was…" He wasn't planning murder. He was simply letting his mind run wild for a bit. It usually made him feel better.

"I was explaining that Grigg cannot handle this journey alone. He would need someone to accompany him to London and get him settled in."

_No. No. He cannot be asking me this. Not with the season only four and a half weeks away._

"If you're implying what I believe you are, the answer is no. I cannot possibly leave the house for any amount of time, especially at this time of year. His Lord and Ladyship would never allow it and I would never dream of it."

"But surely if you were to explain your situation to –"

Carson was dangerously close to snapping. As he opened his mouth to speak, Mrs. Hughes leant forward in her chair and interjected. "Would you give us a few days to decide? I can't guarantee our answer will be what you want to hear, but allowing us time to explore the options would be beneficial."

Isobel nodded. "Of course! Take a few days, by all means. Would you like to speak with Grigg about it?"

He couldn't hold back any longer, family or not. "No, we would not. Thank you. Good day."

* * *

Carson was vaguely aware that Mrs. Hughes was having a time trying to keep up with him on the walk home. He wasn't in the mood to care.

"Surely it wouldn't be so bad? Only a few days away from the house?"

They were on the grounds of Downton, though nowhere near the house. He stopped and turned abruptly to face her.

"A few days? I have the season to prepare for! I don't want to help Grigg. You know my feelings on this matter, why are you even asking if I would go?"

"Because it's only a few days. We survive three months without you here; we could manage two or three days!"

"So I'm of little importance to the running of this house that you could handle the dinners, the wine, the silver, and the setting of the table without me? The only reason you _survive_ is because the family is away."

She lowered her voice. "I'm not saying you aren't important. But Thomas could manage. Or try. He'll never learn unless you allow him a chance to prove himself."

This would be Thomas' first season. Carson couldn't just hand over all responsibility to him and expect the morals and values of Downton to be left unchanged. He glared at Mrs. Hughes for a hard moment before he turned. He didn't know where he was walking to. He just needed to get away from her damned reasoning. But, he didn't have time to go far.

"I could ask. Say his was my friend –"

He spun around. "I would never allow you to go to London by yourself! You wouldn't be able to handle it. It's too dangerous for a woman like you without someone there to..."

He paused to find the right words and found that none would suffice. She was quickly closing the gap; her irritation clearly showing on her face.

"Someone there to protect me? Because I can't handle being alone by myself? Because I'm old? Because I've never been to a large city on my own?"

Carson watched her features grow more livid by the minute. He supposed he meant all of those things – No. He didn't think she was old, _he_ wasn't old. But the others, he did mean, though he didn't mean them in such a malicious way. He worried about her. He didn't want her to get hurt. Lost. Robbed. Caught in a dark alley with a man. He wasn't meaning to put her down.

"I was just –"

"Do whatever the hell you want, Mr. Carson. Though I suggest if you go, please take your time in returning to Downton. You'll find you're not as missed as you believe you are."

He hung his head as her steps grew quieter.

* * *

There was no wine that night. No tea, no whiskey. He didn't sleep. Tossed and turned, her voice still ringing loud in his ears. Not knowing what to say or do to make things better. The next day found them actively avoiding each other. There were some days, after they disagreed, when he sought her out to verbally spar with her more. Make her hurt. Make sure she knew she was wrong. That she knew he was the one who truly ruled below stairs.

He didn't want that. He hadn't even meant to hurt her. But he found he had a knack for saying things wrongly. He just wished she wasn't so quick to anger. She certainly was quick. And she was especially quick when it dealt with him.

Carson sighed as he headed up to serve dinner. The Dowager and Mrs. Crawley would be joining the family tonight and he was afraid. He was afraid Mrs. Crawley would ask him of his decision. He didn't have one.

The dinner was a normal affair until dessert came. Her ladyship brought up Mrs. Crawley's charity work, which led into all things she was helping with. She had deliberately glanced at Carson as she explained that while the hospital was doing very well, they simply weren't as advanced as those in the large cities and she wished there was some way to change that as they were having to send some patients away. Her ladyship had agreed that it was a shame. The Dowager made a remark about how it appeared Mrs. Crawley was indirectly asking for more funds. Things got a bit dodgy after that, though Carson lost interest as his thoughts took over. What if Mrs. Crawley went a bit more in depth with her Ladyship? If she asked her if he could leave his post for a few days? He suddenly felt ill.

"Carson, are you alright?"

They were all looking at him now. _Oh Lord, they're probably having terrible visions of my heart giving out again._ He wasn't even aware how hard he was gripping the back table, or how awkwardly he was standing until they brought him back to reality.

"Of course, Milord."

The ladies were shown through to the drawing room and Carson was left with Branson, his Lordship, the dog and his thoughts. Judging by the occasional glance from his Lordship, he wasn't buying that Carson was alright. By the time Carson was released, he knew what was going to happen and had grown numb to the prospect.

Mrs. Crawley would ask her Ladyship. He would be summoned to explain himself. They would give him a telling off for even supporting the man that threatened Lord Grantham all those years ago. _All those years ago. _Damn it, maybe he _was_ old.

Carson ran straight into Mrs. Hughes as he rounded the corner on his way to his pantry. She stumbled a few steps backward before shooting a glare at him.

"What's so pressing that you feel the need to knock me over?!"

He knew his muted mood reflected in his eyes because her features flashed to concern.

"I apologize, Mrs. Hughes." He mumbled as he made his way to his pantry. He tried to close his door but something was jamming it. He pushed harder. _What the–_ He was about to hurl whatever stupid object that was in his way straight into the window when he glanced down. It was her shoe.

They stared at each other through the crack in the door.

"Has something happened?"

"Mrs. Crawley was at dinner tonight."

"I know."

"She mentioned the hospital not having the proper equipment to treat all patients like those in the cities. Said that some were having to be sent away and how she felt remorse for it. Her Ladyship agreed with her."

"Oh."

He made an agreeable noise.

"She probably only meant it to move your decision along."

"No, I don't think so, Mrs. Hughes."

"Surely she wouldn't ask her Ladyship without asking you first?"

"I wouldn't put it past her."

He watched her put her hand on the door knob.

"Yesterday, when we – I didn't mean –"

"I know, Mrs. Hughes."

He stepped back and she removed her shoe, meaning to come in. Only, his door didn't budge. She looked up at him. He shook his head with the slightest of movements and slowly closed his door, resting his head on the frame and let out a mournful sigh.

* * *

Two nights without sleep did wonders for Carson's personality. Breakfast was spent in silence by everyone. He didn't want to hear about Ivy. Or his Lordship's dinner jacket. Or what Mrs. Patmore was making for their supper. He didn't want to hear what the maids would be cleaning today or who wanted to go into town.

He knew Mrs. Hughes was beside herself. He knew when she was horribly upset that she would spend the majority of breakfast staring into her oatmeal. He would spend his time pushing his around the bowl. He felt her glance up at him a few times. He made sure to only glance at her when he knew she wasn't looking. There she was, chewing that lip again.

Carson served the upstairs breakfast and luncheon without issue. He made his way downstairs and while putting on his polishing apron, the drawing room bell rang. He slowly untied it and hung it back on the rack as Mrs. Hughes appeared at his door.

"You don't have to go."

"To answer the bell? I believe I do."

"I don't mean that. If you don't want to go to London, tell them."

"I'll do what they tell me to do. I don't really care either way, anymore."

"I do."

The bell rang again as he made his way past her. He felt her hand grip onto two of his fingers.

"You didn't even let me fully apologize yesterday."

"There's no need Mrs. Hughes."

"There is. I didn't mean any of the things I said. Because this house wouldn't run right without you. And because I wouldn't – I would…"

He turned to her and gave a small smile. "I know, Mrs. Hughes."

"No you don't!"

"Fine, perhaps I don't. But you can tell me all about it tonight."

She smiled as he walked away. "Tea or wine?"

"Whiskey, if you don't mind!" He called from the stairs.

* * *

"You rang, Milady?"

The drawing room was quite warm from the sunshine and the fire roaring in the hearth. Although Carson had a feeling that he was warm for a variety of other reasons. Mrs. Hughes. This unholy mess Mrs. Crawley had undoubtedly unleashed yesterday. The fact that he ran up the stairs to reach the drawing room before her Ladyship would be too upset. The fact that his Lordship was absent from the room.

"Carson, I understand you have a friend who is quite ill."

_No use lying._ "I do, Milady."

"I don't understand why we weren't informed?"

_Because it shames me? Because this was the man who couldn't hold his tongue to Lord Grantham? Because I was doing just fine with Mrs. Hughes?_

"I didn't want to bother you with such trivial matters, Milady."

"And I understand now that our hospital cannot properly care for him."

"No, it apparently cannot, Milady."

"So, what were you planning to do, Carson?"

He took a deep breath. A little white lie wouldn't hurt. "Visit him a few times during his last days."

"Surely that's not enough for a friend."

He couldn't correct her. But damn it if Mrs. Crawley couldn't work her persistent magic.

"Carson, I want you to accompany him to London."

"Milady, that is quite generous of you. But I cannot accompany him. I have to prepare for the season. And I'm not sure I can afford any –"

"Money is not an issue, Carson. We shall pay for any bills you may owe or encounter." That was _not_ what he meant. He meant that he couldn't afford any time away from the house.

"You shall leave in three days' time. And you are to stay for two weeks."

"Two weeks!"

"Yes, Carson. You never take any time for yourself, in all the years you've worked for us. You may take a few days for him, and the rest of the time is yours. You could travel. The house will be open for you to use. Take in an opera. Go and see the parts of London you haven't been able to see yet."

"Milady, I can't –"

"I am not asking you Carson, I am ordering you. You'll enjoy it. I've already spoken to Lord Grantham and he fully supports the idea."

Carson was flabbergasted. He was racking his brain for any excuse to give to change her Ladyship's mind. _I don't _want_ to go. I don't _want_ to be away from the house. I _hate_ this man. Mrs. Hughes deserves just as much of a break as I apparently do. I hate the London house. The housekeeper's not her. It's not home._

"Thank you, Carson. That will be all. I'll finish discussing it with Cousin Isobel and we'll let you know the final details as soon as we can."

Carson bowed. "Yes, Milady."

He cursed Grigg. He cursed Mrs. Crawley. He cursed Clarkson. For the first time, he cursed his position as Butler. He was locked in. He'd see this matter with Grigg through to the end and all he really wanted to do was to get away. Get away from the drama; the pressure to do good, when dealing with the immoral. Go away with Mrs. Hughes. Take her back to Scotland. Go somewhere relaxing. Maybe he _was_ getting old. Too old for all of this. Retirement had been staring him in the face for quite a few years now. He suddenly wasn't completely opposed to the idea.


	7. Chapter 7

I tried so hard not to make them too romantic but it's just so hard NOT to do. Please let me know in your wonderful reviews that that was acceptable. Also, the timing of the season is never really described (well, I've never seen it) so I did some research. Based it off the garden party that was thrown in season one (July 28, the announcement of WWI) and there was, I think, two weeks before they threw it… where Carson came home and where Cora infamously took her hat off. I'm still off two weeks though, forgive me.

**Chapter 7**

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Mrs. Hughes was much too busy with her own crisis. One of the maids, Kate, had been using the ladder to dust in the library and had apparently fallen, striking her head on the mantle of the fireplace. It knocked her out cold and after getting Alfred to carry Kate to her room, she had to deal with calling Doctor Clarkson, one of the last people she wanted to see. He only asked her once if any decision had been made and her icy glare had shut him up. He gave his instructions about Kate and left quickly.

Dinner wasn't spent in silence, as breakfast had – although Mr. Carson was still silent. Mrs. Hughes tried quietly asking him what happened. He shook his head, eyes pleading with hers – _Later. Ask me later._

It was later. He was staring into a large glass of whiskey. She was busy tracing the lines on the armrest of her chair.

"I take it you're going." She began timidly.

"For two weeks." Her head snapped up.

"Two weeks? What on earth for?"

"Because, I apparently deserve some time off."

"Well! That will be a nice treat."

"You know I have too much to do before the season for any sort of break! What the hell am I going to do with myself?" Mrs. Hughes knew he was taught as a boy to never swear in front of women. He had shared a story with her once – of him, when he was quite young; looking at the supper his mother had made and called it 'shit.' He didn't know what the word meant; only that it was used in association with disdain (at that point in his life, he disliked shepherd's pie) and that the older boys used it. His father had promptly beat him for its use and ordered that he never use that word again. He went hungry that night and it took him years to fully learn what the word meant.

To this day, he had only broken that rule a handful of times in front of her. She knew he was at his wit's end when he swore. She wouldn't hold it against him. Besides, if she recalled correctly, she's sworn in front of him much more than a handful of times. Recently, too.

"What do you _want_ to do?"

He turned his attention back to his drink. In that moment, she knew he wasn't sure what he wanted. He seemed to be torn about this whole ordeal. Poor man. What he really needed was a good night's sleep and it didn't appear he'd be getting it with the amount of stress and work that was unexpectedly thrown his way.

"I don't know. I don't want to go under these circumstances. Going because of Grigg and all. But I do want to get away. Far away – from… I don't know. All of this."

"Oh! Well then, I'll say goodnight." She was wearing a mischievous grin on her face as he reached over to place his large hand over her small one.

"No. I didn't mean you. Never you, Mrs. Hughes."

_My God it's hot. Why on earth did I feel the need to make a fire? I know it's the beginning of March, but…_

She stared at their hands for a moment before finding the courage to meet his gaze. His expression was so serious, so beautifully proud and serious. Her mind went blank. She should be saying something. Something equally beautiful or moving to compliment his expression.

"I was only joking, Mr. Carson."

_Not your best, girl._

His gaze didn't falter. She watched his lips slightly push together. _What was he thinking?_

He ever so gently tugged on her wrist. She wasn't used to this, didn't understand this gesture. Did he want her to move? To get up? Go stand next to him? Kneel before him? Sit in his lap? She blushed energetically at that last thought. _Don't be ridiculous._

She gave him a confused look and watched him smile. He slowly moved his chair. They were no longer sitting across from each other but next to each other. _Very much_ next to each other. So close that their shoulders and arms touched. He replaced his hand on top of hers and slowly pushed his fingertips down between her fingers. He was becoming quite talented at locking their hands together.

Her cheeks were burning. She couldn't remember the last time she had blushed so hard. The last time she was made to feel like this.

They hadn't spoken a word during this exchange. There was no need for words. That was the foundation of their relationship. They read cues from each other, understood what the other was saying by their actions, their expressions. It was something they both came to rely on, in a place where one must be very careful about the selection and the meaning of the words they uttered. Asking to see each other at the end of the day could mean all sorts of things. Now it meant even _more_ things – things that Mrs. Hughes had never thought of before.

"It's only two weeks." She tried.

Silence.

"You'll have fun." She was mentally cursing the hoarseness in her voice and her inability to clearly speak her mind. So many words and phrases were rushing through it, words and phrases she had only ever read in novels. Those people never had problems saying what they felt. Then again, those people never had to worry of rejection. His thumb started rubbing along the side of her hand and her mental barrage stopped.

He leant forward and rested his forehead against her temple. "I may, but I'll miss you."

His voice was equally hoarse and so much lower than his usual baritone. Mrs. Hughes felt a strange need to pull away. This was too much. It was everything she'd ever wanted from any man, especially him. He nudged his nose up a bit and his mouth was now dangerously close to her neck. Why on earth was he doing this now? _When we've spent nearly twenty years performing such a delicate and controlled routine with each other?_ She tightened her grip on his fingers as he lowered his mouth and she bit her lip before she made any sort of noise that would be most unsuitable for her sitting room.

There was a knock at the door and they jolted apart instantly. _Whoever is on the other side of this door better have a _pressing _matter or they would be feeling a wrath previously unknown to anyone in this house_. She didn't even have time to make for the door before it flew open and Alfred staggered inside.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes but its Kate, she's awake and she's screaming in pain, the entire floor can hear her, she woke everyone up and Mrs. Patmo – are you alright?"

She nodded mutely, eyes wide. _I must look a mess – my face must resemble someone with scarlet fever. _Alfred shifted his gaze uncomfortably between her and Mr. Carson.

"Right, I'll – I'll bring her medicine." Alfred nodded and bid a hasty retreat.

They stared at each other.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson."

He raised his hand and smiled. "Don't be. If they weren't coming for you, they'd be coming for me."

She wanted to tell him that what he did was wonderful. Instead, she mirrored his smile before rushing up the stairs.

* * *

Mrs. Hughes assumed Mr. Carson must have been suffering from a terrible headache as he asked her for powder no more than four times before breakfast. She had reminded him that he couldn't _just_ _take more powder_ until the pain stopped – that wasn't how medicine worked. After the third time, in which she told him a bit more forcefully, he locked himself in his pantry. Today was the day of his departure. He had only had three days in which to do the work that usually took him weeks to accomplish and Mrs. Hughes was convinced he hadn't gone to bed once in those past three days. Instead he had polished the silver. Sorted through the wines. Checked and re-checked his books. Placed orders for everything under the sun. Packed his things away. And then, as an added bonus – wrote down everything for Thomas to reference. Mrs. Hughes had a sneaking suspicion his work in that area would go unused.

His train was leaving in an hour and she hadn't seen nor heard him for nearly two. She gave her two customary knocks before entering his pantry. He was face down on his desk, clutching his ink pen with invoices and notices piled all around him. _He looks like a schoolboy._

"Mr. Carson?"

She watched his eyes squint and he clutched at that pen a bit tighter, before his features relaxed. As much as she hated to wake him, he only had about fifteen minutes before the car would be leaving for the station. She walked to his side, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Carson?" She patted his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes. Blinked once, twice. A sleepy smile appeared on his face.

"Does your head feel better?"

He nodded.

"Good. Because you need to leave soon. You have about fifteen minutes before the–"

He practically leapt from his chair. "Why didn't you wake me an hour ago?!"

"I didn't know what you were doing and I didn't think I needed to monitor your every move!"

He groaned, ran his hand over his face and looked about the room.

"Can you ask James or Alfred to load my things into the car?"

"Certainly. Don't worry; you've done more work than I ever thought you could. I'm sure we are now more than prepared for your absence."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or insult."

"Can we not disagree before you leave?" She was already out searching for one of the boys.

Alfred and James were not far away and Mrs. Hughes escorted them to the car that was waiting out the front door. She was uneasy. She didn't usually get like this, even when he left for the season. Assuming it was because of the difference in situation and his reluctance to go, she tried to calm her nerves as he appeared on the other side of the hall.

"I still wish they would have brought the car to the servants' quarters."

"The car cannot get anywhere near that door, you know that."

He looked down at his shoes. "I wanted to thank you. For how effortlessly you've run this house the past three days while I've been trying to get everything sorted."

"It was no–"

"And, for everything you've done with Grigg... and me. I know I've been grumpy and unkind at times and I know it may have not ended the way you, or I, wanted. But you have a good heart, Mrs. Hughes. And I greatly appreciate that, and you."

_Has the rug always been this intricate?_

"Will you… if you don't mind – I would like you to…"

_Write me. Tell me you love me. Take my hand. Kiss me._

"Come with me to the station?"

"Yes. I'd like that very much."

It was cold. It was gray and cold outside and the car wasn't keeping either of them warm. Both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sat close together as the car sped along the streets to the station. She couldn't meet his eyes, even if she wanted to. She knew she was acting ridiculous. But sometimes one just had those feelings of… foreboding. She was sure it was an overreaction. Letting his mood reflect on hers was always one of her weaknesses. She shivered. Was it the nineteenth of March yet?

She felt his gaze on her. He reached out and took her hand. She had never held it so tight.

* * *

Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley were already at the station with Grigg when they arrived and they exchanged their pleasantries.

"Why don't we allow Mr. Grigg to board the train first, so we can make him comfortable?"

Mrs. Hughes heard Mr. Carson sigh as he and Mrs. Crawley made their way with Grigg to the train. That left her with Doctor Clarkson and she wasn't in a mood to chat. It was too cold and dreary for that. A few moments passed.

"Has the house prepared for Mr. Carson's departure?"

She sighed. "It has, as best as it could, given the circumstances. Though it's never the same when he's not there."

"Of course."

Mr. Carson made his way off the train, straight to her.

"Might we, speak somewhere more privately?" He asked, eying Doctor Clarkson.

She nodded and they made their way near the ticket window. Mr. Carson took her hand. She didn't care that there were people around. That Doctor Clarkson and Mrs. Crawley could still plainly see them. That Grigg was probably plotting his next revenge as he stared at them through the window of the train.

"It's only two weeks." He repeated her words. "I'll write to you, if you'd like."

"I'd like that very much, though I don't want to take away from your holiday fun."

"More of a nuisance than holiday, really."

"Get some rest while you're away. And try to make some fun for yourself."

The train conductor called for all aboard. So much she wanted to say. _Isn't that how it always is?_

"Take care, Mr. Carson." She gripped his hand tight.

"You as well, Mrs. Hughes." He matched her grip and stared at their hands for a long moment before finally letting go and boarding the train.

It rained. It rained all the way home to Downton and she didn't give a damn.

* * *

Mrs. Hughes stormed down stairs and slammed her sitting room door. Only a bloody week had passed and she had just been informed that the family would be leaving early for the season. Not in three weeks, the first week of April, but the middle of March. She knew what this meant. He wouldn't be back. He would have to stay in London and meet the family there. There'd be no point in his returning, as he packed plenty to sustain him. She put her head in her hands. He would only be gone an extra month, she shouldn't be _this_ upset. But, there it was.

She pulled out her stationary and a pen. Tried to calm herself to compose a letter. A letter that would somehow tell him how she felt about this latest development, without completely embarrassing herself. She didn't even know where to begin. Five minutes passed. Five more. Fifteen. Sighing, she got up and went to the one room that had been her sanctuary.

His pantry. She didn't allow Thomas in here during the evenings and she was thankful he didn't want to go over the day, as they had. As she entered, she switched on the light and made her way to his desk. She stood there, softly running her hand along the side of it. She had never, in all their years here, sat in his chair. Taking a seat, she smiled. Leaned back, like he did when he was tired. His desk was better than hers. There was more surface space, although you wouldn't know it from all the clutter that was currently occupying it. She turned her attention to his phone.

_You shouldn't._

_Maybe he doesn't know._

_Of course he does._

_Still._

She picked up the receiver. A wave of anxiety washed over her – she had never used this before. How hard could it be? If he could use it, then so could she. There was a voice over the line, asking if she'd like to place a call. She hesitated, then blurted out Lord Grantham's House in London. The operator told her just a moment and she was amazed that they knew where she was referring to. That they could connect the two of them through a wire and receiver.

She desperately wanted this device in her room now, too.

There was a kind of ringing that went on for far too long before she heard a low baritone greet her and she lost her voice for a moment. What if he was angry with her for calling? What if he was busy and didn't have the time to chat?

"Hello?"

She cleared her throat, "Mr. Carson?"

"Mrs. – Mrs. Hughes?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, I didn't mean to tear you away from anything important."

"You haven't torn me away from anything. Are you – are you in my pantry?"

"I… yes."

She heard his smile in his voice. "Did you need something?"

"Did you speak to her ladyship today?"

"I did. I suppose you know about them coming to London earlier than expected?"

She frowned. "Yes. Will you be needing anything else of yours?"

"I don't think so. But I can always telephone."

There was a long stretch of silence. She wanted to tell him so much. How the house hadn't burnt to the ground as he so often imagined, but that didn't mean it was running smoothly. She wanted to tell him how Thomas was getting on, that he wasn't as nasty as they both believed, but that she's put him in his place several times. Tell him that his precious Lady Mary was growing more cheerful, though he'd notice that himself in London. Tell him–

"I miss you."

Her eyes were suddenly very blurry and she rubbed them furiously. Even many miles away, he could still read her mind.

"Do you… want to talk?"

Her voice hitched. "Yes, please – if you've the time."

Of course he did.


	8. Chapter 8

An update of biblical proportions. You know when you near the end of a 5k and you get overjoyed that you've not blown your knee out yet? That's this. My whole goal (in life, perhaps, but especially here) was to keep them true to themselves. In my opinion, they would never blurt out that they love each other in the open (maybe in the bedroom… but that's something else). They'd hide what they're saying, so that only the other one would know what they truly mean. And I hope you got that through the entire story. I thank you all, so, so much for reviewing. I couldn't have done it without you and I hope you don't find this too annoyingly happy at the end.

**Chapter 8**

It was now the middle of July and as miserable as it was, being in London for so long, that single telephone call had changed everything for them. It didn't happen often, but they decided during their conversation that they could continue to speak on the phone. Carson, if anyone asked, would make the excuse that he wanted to know the goings on in Downton. So, a new weekly occurrence began; he, making sure the London staff were well tucked in, would place a call to Downton. And she would sit, in his chair and tell him about her week. And he, in turn, would tell her about his. It was as if they were having their evening wine, only without being able to see one another. She would laugh about his lack of affection with the London staff, and my, did she have a lovely laugh. He could detect the annoyance in her voice when he spoke about the housekeeper, just as his voice changed a bit more harshly when Thomas was discussed. Her voice would catch on a rare occasion whenever it was time to bid each other goodnight, but perhaps that was simply due to a faulty connection. Although, when he replayed their conversation late at night, in his room, he knew it wasn't.

This was so much better than writing a letter, though they did still send letters to one another. This invention was brilliant. He may not enjoy change, but perhaps just this one device wasn't all that bad. _Her blasted toaster on the other hand…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the drawing room bell. He made his way into the room.

"Carson, good. We need to discuss the upcoming garden party."

The garden party was a little over two weeks away. And Carson was fairly certain that he wouldn't be playing an active role in organizing the affairs. That was Mrs. Hughes' domain. Still, he could write her about this discussion. _Or phone her._

"What would you like to discuss, Milady?"

"Well, we've decided to let the girls handle the garden party this year. Eventually, Mary will be… heading the house, as George grows up and we think it's best that she learns to manage one on her own. And Edith will help, won't you dear?"

Clearly there had been a disagreement between the girls over that matter as Lady Edith mumbled an agreement and Lady Mary glared out the window. Even though both were well into adulthood, they were still powerless in some regards to their parents. This sudden change for the party wasn't something he would have ever predicted and Mrs. Hughes would probably be livid once he told her.

"Shall I write Mrs. Hughes, or shall we… surprise her once we return?"

"Well that's just it, Carson. With the girls planning the party, Lord Grantham and I thought it would be nice to stay on in London a bit longer."

_Stay on. Longer. How long? As if I haven't been away from everything long enough._

"I see."

"The girls will be heading home on Saturday and Mrs. Hughes can readjust her preparations accordingly. I'm sure she won't mind."

_No, Mrs. Hughes would mind. She would mind very much, Milady. The servants would be very fortunate indeed, if she didn't explode once hearing the news._

"I'll let Mrs. Hughes know to expect some changes in the coming weeks. Will there be anything else, Milady?"

"No, thank you, Carson."

He paused on his way down the stairs, leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling_. _As much as he had wanted to, he couldn't have asked her Ladyship how much longer they would be staying in London – it wasn't appropriate to ask questions. Would it only be a few weeks? What if it turned into a month? _Why now? Why choose this to happen now? Why not at least go back to attend the party? Don't they understand that I want to go home? Because I miss it? I miss her. Oh God, how am I going to tell her all of this without upsetting her? _

In his pantry, he sat with a heavy heart, pen in his hand. Writing would be better. Although it would take longer for her to receive the news, he wouldn't have to deal with the immediate wrath of the housekeeper. He wouldn't hear the anger in her voice as she went on a rampage about the privileged. The disappointment at their inability to understand what went into planning such a party. The grief when he'd tell her he wouldn't be returning in a week. Like he should be. She may call after she receives the letter, she may not. Regardless, he would have a few days' time to prepare how to handle the situation. And her. He sighed as he began his letter.

* * *

Carson had just finished serving the upstairs breakfast and was polishing the silver when he heard the telephone ring. His heart dropped. She would have gotten the letter today. In fact, she'd have received it several hours ago which meant she had waited. Waited until she was sure he finished serving the breakfast. Waited until she knew he would be able to talk.

"This is Carson, the–"

"How _dare_ you not telephone me over this matter!"

It appeared that she'd taken a strong liking to the telephone over the past few months. Not that he hadn't.

"I didn't think–"

"No you didn't! Do they, or_ you_, have any idea how much preparation goes into this event? How much I have to plan? I have to change every order I've placed and I've no idea when the party will even be! Half the food will spoil before I even get a date from Lady Mary! Whose bloody decision was this?"

"Of course I know how much work you do in the weeks ahead of this. I can only assume it was a joint decision between her Ladyship and–"

"After running the house for over four months alongside of Thomas, who knows next to nothing about how a house is run, you'd think they could have spared me this! I've no idea what Lady Mary likes or how she wants this party to appear. I can't even pretend to get started – I'll have to completely toss everything!"

It had been years since Carson had seen Mrs. Hughes this upset. He had a strong feeling that the majority of Downton was overhearing her tirade into the phone, all crammed in front of his pantry's two doors with their ears pressed firmly against the painted oak. Then again, the kitchen staff could probably hear her without having to strain to listen. He sighed.

"I know, Mrs. Hughes. If I could –"

"And there's another matter! Why aren't you upset staying on for God knows how long?"

"Who says I'm not? Just because I'm not falling to pieces into the phone does not mean –"

"I am not falling to pieces!"

This was not how he planned this conversation would go. He could hear her heavy breathing through the receiver. What she needed was time to calm herself, as she was clearly wound up from the hours of waiting to speak to him. She was much too stressed, too anxious. He had been growing worried about her as the months went by. Worried about her workload. Worried Thomas was giving her a hard time; that she felt lonely at night. He just wanted to go home. Home, to where he'd never refuse a night cap with her again. This whole 'adventure' gave him serious reconsideration for retirement. In fact, it looked quite appealing anymore._ I'd walk out of this place today, if I didn't require housing from these people._

He wasn't sure sitting in silence was such a good idea. But, she hadn't let him finish a sentence yet. He took a deep breath. He'd rather not say this aloud, not during the day, when anyone walking past his pantry could hear; but calming her was his priority.

"Mrs. Hughes, take a breath and sit down, because I know you're not." His voice lowered; he would be sacked if anyone heard what he was going to say. She was the only one he trusted. The only one in which to discuss the negative aspects of the family. "Now, listen to me. I know the family may not exercise _understanding_ in such matters, and I recognize what they've now carelessly decided has literally ruined all the work you've spent weeks doing, but you still have time. You have time to work on a new party, and with Lady Mary and Lady Edith returning home in a few days, I think, given the extra few weeks, you have enough time to plan a lovely party that her Ladyship would envy."

His ears were burning with such negative talk of the family, but he knew from experience that it's what she most wants to hear when they burden her with too much. He's never given in to such talk, but the telephone gave him courage. Or, perhaps because he wasn't there to give her a sympathetic look, to reassure her with his touch, he had to rely on his words. He took another breath, thankful that she was listening to him, and no longer shouting.

"And I am quite unhappy with their extended stay in London, but I'm powerless to do anything about such a thing."

"But you–"

_Gentle, now._ "No. You _know_ that Mrs. Hughes. As unfair as that is. As unfair as our lives have been of late, there's nothing I can do. If I had my choice, I'd be home on the evening train. But they simply wouldn't allow that."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask."

He paused to open his pantry door. The hall was deserted. Still, his voice was barely above a whisper as he sat back down. "They wouldn't understand. They're a bit… naïve when it comes to morale of the servants. They don't understand how much work we do. They don't know what work is, and they probably don't even understand the term 'exhaustion.' I know, you've said all this to me before. So, you should be thrilled that I finally agree with you."

He figured that would get a rise from her. It didn't. _Try humor, she likes your humor._

"Besides, with me away, you can purchase all kinds of terrifying contraptions that I would otherwise forbid from the house. Go out and buy some kind of strange electric… whatever. I don't even know what they make anymore."

_Please, stop chewing on your lip and agree with me._

"I did see an advertisement for a kind of dryer for your hair that you plug in and–"

"Please. I don't need to know how it works."

* * *

Carson's visits to Grigg steadily declined, especially with the family continuously living a care-free lifestyle in London. In fact, for Grigg's last week of life, Carson wasn't able to see him. He knew the end was quickly approaching, and he knew he should visit, but he didn't want to. He rang Mrs. Hughes late one evening – he wasn't even expecting her to be awake – with his doubts, along with his excuses. He didn't have the time, patience or energy after such long workdays in London. He felt guilty, selfish. Wondered if he'd be damned to hell over his lack of compassion and sympathy. She had reassured him that what he felt, and did, was perfectly acceptable and not damnable. That he easily carved a place out for himself in heaven by simply supporting that intolerable man for over a week. He asked if he should attend the funeral. She asked if Grigg would attend his. Thinking for a while, he knew the answer. No, he would not. Grigg passed away soon after that phone conversation and was buried a few days later. He did not attend.

The weeks had dragged on and they began to phone each other regularly, always late at night. Mrs. Hughes was under an immense amount of pressure, as Lady Mary had no idea what even went into a garden party, yet didn't object to telling Mrs. Hughes that she wasn't pleased with certain arrangements. Carson put up with the name calling because she was stressed. She was tired. And he hated when she was tired. His mind got the better of him late at night, after he was lying in his bed. _What if her illness could come back if she became overly tired?_ It was an absurd notion, but it didn't stop his mind from running wild. He didn't sleep very well on those nights.

* * *

The garden party was now only a few days away. Mrs. Hughes' seemed to be managing very well, even with Lady Mary's inexperience and Lady Edith's lack of assistance. She deserved a magnificent glass of sherry when it would all be said and done. They both did. There had been no discussion about a return to Downton and his patience was wearing thin. Her words haunted him as he made his way to the drawing room.

_It wouldn't hurt to ask. _

_Let's see how this fares then, Mrs. Hughes._

"Milady, I was wondering if I could have a word?"

"Certainly Carson, what is it?"

"Well, I have an old friend coming into Ipswich tomorrow. I was wondering if I could have a few days off to see him."

Carson couldn't even remember the last time he had told a flat out lie, especially to the family. His face was flushed, he knew it; he could feel it. Damn it, his palms were sweating too. Thankfully her Ladyship was far more interested in her crocheting than his appearance.

"I don't see why not. But do remember this Saturday is the Milner's ball. Please be back in time to prepare for it."

"Of course, Milady."

_That was ludicrously easy_, he thought as he all but bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. Should he tell Mrs. Hughes his plan? She'd be so pleased. Hell, he was _joyful_. _Maybe I shouldn't, give her a pleasant surprise._ He dug a suitcase out of the closet. He had a feeling she liked that gray suit he occasionally wore…

* * *

Five months. Well, five months in three days, but he wasn't counting. It had been five months since he'd been away. Since he'd seen Downton. Seen his pantry. His bedroom. Her sitting room. Her. He was a bundle of nerves as he sat on the train. He never did tell her. It was better this way. He wanted to surprise her; there weren't many surprises for them anymore at their age, and when surprises arose, they were rarely pleasant. He gripped the handle of his suitcase tighter as the sun shone on his face. Being away from her for so long allowed him to finally be honest with himself. There was no denying it. He loved her. For a while, he wasn't sure what love even entailed. Soppy words? He could probably muddle through some phrases to please her. Kissing. He could definitely handle that. Being close to someone? He knew it wouldn't be easy, but if anyone could open him up, it'd be her. Passionate… well, passion. He blushed at that. There were multiple kinds of love, and while he believed he felt all of them for her, he felt the most important kind of love was knowing you couldn't live without the other person.

It sounded loud and heroic. _Soppy even,_ he thought with a chuckle. But it was true; he wasn't sure where he'd be in his life without Mrs. Hughes. And to imagine his life without her, whether she remained a friend, or became something more, could bring about such a pain in his heart. He didn't care if she only wanted to be friends. He would be perfectly content with that. But he felt something more. Something was developing between them, and he hoped today would be the day to discover if she believed that as well. The train pulled into the station. He felt queasy but happy. Terribly, terribly happy.

* * *

Downstairs was bustling with activity. It was incredibly warm down there, and a bit hazy, but smelled wonderful. Carson was thankful everyone was busy either preparing or carrying food to notice him. It gave him time to stop in his pantry. His smile vanished as he shut his door. It was a _mess_. It would take days to sort through the piles of paper. He checked the silver closet; _how could they get something so simple, so wrong?_ He had his work cut out for him once he returned for good. He only marginally minded. He found his way to his mirror. Started smoothing out his hair. Adjusted his tie. Found a brush and scrubbed at his suit. Argued that he only wanted to look presentable; that he was past the years of looking handsome. Took a deep breath. Turned to leave when he noticed his telephone sitting quite close to his chair.

She sat here. Sat here and went through all her beautiful emotions alone, in front of the things that were only ever used to him. His pantry didn't smell of her. She hadn't left anything on his desk, only the place of his telephone told him she was here. One day, when he'd leave Downton for good, he would take that telephone with him. Wouldn't bother hooking it up, just place it somewhere where he could look at it. Remember how much it meant to him. Them.

It was bright outside as he made his way to the grounds. He wanted to surprise her, sneak up on her. Not frighten her; there would be no teasing today. He wondered how he'd avoid her gaze, unless he could come at her from behind. He looked all around the party, and she was nowhere to be found. Carson couldn't loaf about; people would want to speak with him. Ask him how London was. Thomas would probably ask if he bought a place of his own. Then, he saw her. She was standing in the same place where he comforted Lady Mary about Mr. Crawley, under that large tree. She wasn't facing the party. She had changed her dress. It looked very nice on her. One day, he'd tell her.

He threw up a prayer that she wouldn't turn around as he slowly and quietly made his way to her. His heart was in his throat. He was close now, the wind carried her scent and he could see her jaw working that lower lip. She was lightly wringing her hands and he watched her for a moment, not saying a word. She had no idea.

Carson took a few steps. Stood directly behind her. Almost touching.

"It really does seem to be a lovely party."

Her mouth dropped but she didn't turn around. She looked as if she were about to cry, then her face lit up in a way he had never seen before. _Such a beautiful smile._ It had been a long time since he had seen her smile.

"It was missing something, but I think I've found what it was."

She waved her hand slowly behind her back. He moved to stand next to her and grasped her hand, bringing it between them.

"I'm glad. We wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste."

He cocked his head to look down at her as she turned her head to look at him. They stood, side by side, gazing at each other. Waiting for five months was absolutely worth the delirious feeling he was now experiencing. Five long months, but he hadn't counted. She turned to face him, still holding his hand.

"Mr. Carson, I–"

"Carson!" Lady Mary called out as she made her way toward them. He noted Mrs. Hughes expression. She looked devastated as she watched who was headed their way. She withdrew her hand. She had spent nearly twenty years voicing her dislike for Lady Mary. Said she never understood why he adored her. He did, he adored Lady Mary. But he didn't love her. He loved the woman by his side.

"I can't believe you're here! Does Mama know?"

"No, she doesn't. And I'd appreciate your discreetness on this matter."

Lady Mary wore a smirk, "Of course; your secret's safe with me. But I was wondering if you could–"

_Time to show where you stand, old boy._

"Milady, with great respect, I'm afraid I cannot possibly do anything until I discuss how this house has handled my absence with Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes stared up at him in wonder. He felt his heart might burst.

"Of course, Carson, I understand. Perhaps later this evening?"

"That would be fine, Milady."

* * *

They walked, hand in hand. They didn't go to the servants' quarters. Didn't go to the hall. Didn't go to his pantry or her sitting room. They walked for a long time, in content silence. Occasionally, someone would tighten their grip on the others hand. Eventually, they found themselves facing a dirt path into the woods. She tore her hand from his as she kept walking, heading down the path. He leaned against a tree, watched her.

She stopped and stood quite still on that path. He loved this time of the year, and this time of the day. The woods were so much darker than the rest of the world and the green of the trees contrasted the black of her dress quite nicely. She turned, suddenly, and ran to him. Ran straight into him. Put her arms around him. Buried her head in his chest. He was stunned. Wasn't quite sure what to do with his arms. Thought of asking her if he could return her hug, but decided that was foolish and would ruin this moment.

He stood there, hugging her. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't have imagined this. That she would take the lead in the very complicated and subtle dance the two of them had performed for the past eight months – well really, the past twenty years. He was always the one to do so. Offer his arm, kneel before her, hold her hand, sit side by side, come so close to kissing her. The wind picked up a bit and he tightened his grip on her. Rested his forehead on the top of her head. _So soft._

He wasn't sure right away. But after a bit, after he heard her sniff more than once, he was certain his vest and shirt were wet. He had only ever seen women sob when they cried. But, she wasn't sobbing. Her shoulders didn't move; she wasn't making a scene. Beside the occasional sniff, and his now damp vest and shirt, he would have no idea. _Say something. Say anything. Tell her you love her. That you're sorry. That you–_

"I missed you."

He was silent. He wanted to let her speak. Wanted to know her feelings. Hoped they were a mirror of his own.

"So much, Mr. Carson. I've missed you _so_ much." She was speaking into his chest but he could hear her, clear as day. She fell silent after that.

"Mrs. Hughes."

"I don't want this." He stiffened. "I don't want our lives to be like… this. I don't want to spend the rest of our lives serving others. Having to answer to someone you don't truly care for. Having to be separated for three months, every year. Not able to make our own decisions. Not able to care for one another, because of the bloody impropriety of it all."

He brought his fingers under her chin and raised her face so that he could look at her.

"Before all of this, before Grigg appeared, before I was sent away; I never dreamt of retirement. I wouldn't even know what to do with myself."

She gave him a small smile. "You would learn."

"That's true, and now I think it might work. It might work out very well. But, I'd have to have a _very_ good teacher to help me gain the courage to leave Downton."

Her smile widened into a grin and she fixed her eyes on his tie. "I think I know someone who would be interested in helping you. But you would have to tolerate the fact that she may not know everything about caring for a house."

"She wouldn't need to care for it. Only run it."

She was playing with his tie. "Oh, I think she's _quite_ good at running a house. But she would need help learning how to build a fire. How to decanter wine. How to tie a tie. Set a table correctly. Polish silver. And, I think she'd like to start her new position as soon as possible."

He felt himself tearing up. "I don't see a problem there."

She bit her lip and met his gaze, holding onto his tie. "Can we… teach each other?"

"I think so."

A moment passed. She gently tugged on his tie. He lowered his head and she raised her chin. He paused then, wanting to remember this for a _long_ time.

"May I, Mrs. Hughes?"

She smiled. "Yes."

They were friends. But they were also much, _much_ more than that.


End file.
